The Dark Elf
by nili-roshan
Summary: LOTRxHB. Nuala's prayer to the Valar for her brother's salvation is heard; the pair of them are pulled into the past where Nuala hopes he will be brought into the light once more. To the purer elves of the third age, though, Nuada is an immortal halfway to becoming an Uruk- but that is unlikely to stop the Prince of Mirkwood. Legolas/Nuada, Haldir/Nuala. Liberty taken with Hellboy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

"He does not hide himself," Legolas spoke softly to his guard, all concealed behind and beneath the foliage a distance from the strange creature, their horses behind on the road. The stranger who had drawn them of course appeared to be wandering the realms outside of Lothlorien aimlessly; his frequent stopping and turning some indication of this. He was armed only with a long knife in hand which almost mirrored Legolas's own; if this stranger's blade only had a twin, the resemblance would have been uncanny.

"Aye, he seems disoriented," someone whispered back.

"He is alert," another contradicted, shaking his head.

Legolas's eyes narrowed in concentration. He, for once, did not know how to proceed.

It was not said, but everyone in his company was thinking the same: this elf they had found was no ordinary elf. His hair was blonde, but coarse and tangled and too short; he dressed in strange clothing, similar to but still unlike any style they had seen before- and it was, most all of it, black, save a red waist-piece; his skin was unnaturally grey, and his lips and eyes were shadowed as if he had been touched by darkness (a simple sight which disturbed Legolas's heart).

The creature appeared to be between elven and Urukhai. All in the party had heard the stories of Sauron capturing and corrupting their long-ago kin, torturing elves until they became vile monsters; it seemed a reasonable explanation for this one's existence, vile though the thought maybe- and should this be the case, a swift death was in order.

But he _was_ still elvish- not fully Urukhai. He appeared to Legolas to be the embodiment of... refined- and tightly constrained- savagery; he could feel this aura that permeated from the man- and it was, in a way, exciting. Indeed, Legolas experienced a range of emotions: pity and curiosity and a thrill. There was an undeniable but dangerous attraction, and it frightened him to think what sort of twisted being could pull _him, _the Prince with unshakable honor, into the dark- not that he had gone there yet.

The Prince took one breath, savoring the air.

_I am a leader among my people. I cannot waver._

"Proceed," Legolas instructed, putting aside his emotions and forcing himself to calculate an action instead; he had reached the conclusion he knew to be coming all along in the shortest of moments: he would not- could not- risk their safety. While a friend may forgive his mistake an enemy most certainly would not.

Legolas drawing his long knives was all the prompting the guard was in need of: they spread out into the surrounding wood, silent.

XXX

Nuada turned away from the approaching men, but still he hid his sneer.

_Humans, _he spat mentally. But, no. These were not humans, he thought. Humans could not move so gently; instead, they bulldozed through forests and leveled the land. But neither were these goblins, or trolls, or fairies- or _any_ of the creatures Nuada knew of; though, he didn't know of this _place_, either, he reminded himself. These woods were unfamiliar to him.

He had been lounging in his chambers one moment, in Bethmoora, waiting for that silly blue man smitten with his sister to arrive with the last of his crown, and the next instant he had felt his sister's panic and deep shock wrenching him from his half-sleep. He had immediately armed himself, then reached across their bond, feeling for her presence in the world and for her precise direction and state.

She was growing fainter, and with enough panic to match Nuala's own, Nuada had launched himself from the abandoned palace out into the woods. He had run and run and then the darkness was encroaching on the edges of his vision and there was naught but Nuala's golden light before him, and then he fell, as if falling into her, but she was not there- all there was was darkness.

When he woke, he was laying face-down on the ground, acutely disoriented. He blinked rapidly until his vision came back into focus. Then, after slowly lifting his head off the grass, he craned his neck back only to find that the surrounding forest was subtlety different; he didn't recognize this arrangement of trees, this scent, this smell.

Nuada had pushed himself to his feet, looking about him with critical eyes before pausing to seek Nuala's presence once more. He found she was at a greater distance now, but no longer diminishing, and no longer fearful or panicked.

He set off in her direction, unsure how else to proceed, placing one reassuring hand on the hilt of his blade fastened to his back- that is, until the foliage grew thick enough that he had cause to draw it- not to use it as a weapon as it should be- but as a bushwhack, which was not done without a grimace of distaste. Often he had to stop and change direction where there was simply no way for him to proceed. He had walked for what was not more than an hour when he became aware of the approaching party.

He hadn't let it show, of course, continuing on as he had been, but now he could feel his awareness heightening gradually with their increasing proximity- and then, in one short second he tensed and lifted his knife in a tight turn, catching two other, glinting white-gold blades with his own blackened, silver one. The weaponry clanged loudly in the forest, and Nuada looked across the three intersecting blades only to find bright azure eyes, wide with anticipation staring back a him. His gaze moved languidly across the exquisite, chiseled features of the-

_Of the elf_, he realized, noting the pointed ears in surprise; he took a deep breath, dismissing this shock before letting his eyes drop pointedly to the two blades in the man's hands. The other dropped his eyes, too, for a moment, as if thrown into uncertainty.

The long knives had been crossed, as if his assailant had meant to hold Nuada's neck between them (_It was a niave move to make_, Nuada thought, disparagingly. This elf had underestimated him severely). In one long-drawn motion, they came away, ringing minutely as they slid across the length of Nuada's own blade, which had halted the other two only one meager foot from his neck.

The next moment, a company of no more than six elvish soldiers stepped from the trees, two of them with bow and arrow aiming directly at him. Nuada raised a sardonic brow, at odds with his growing concern. Six elves may be a problem, he decided, considering that at least one of them was strong- he glanced back at the elf now stepping back from him.

"Who are you?" the elf asked, when Nuada looked at him the second time; he did so in elven tongue, an old dialect which coupled favorably with the vibrato of his voice.

"I am Nuada Silverblade." He cocked his head in curiosity, bringing himself out of his own demi-stance, and dropped his sword arm to properly face the elf. "Who are you?"

"_Nuada_... I have not heard of this name before. Is it elvish?"

"I asked you your own name," Nuada shook his head in denial of the other elf's request.

He was rewarded a frown.

"I am Legolas Greenleaf." There was a pause, then. "Why do you speak so?"

"You are the one speaking strangely."

The elf, Legolas, was silent for another moment and then, when no further information was forthcoming, prompted, "Your name?"

Nuada could not understand the elf's- Legolas's- fixation with his name; however, this time he was inclined to oblige him. "It is Sindarin. It is derived from the words _nur _and _ara._"

"Sad nobel?" Legolas questioned, the curiosity and fascination on his face visibly deepening.

Nuada looked on at the fair elf as if he had not spoken.

"Are you of noble birth?" Legolas asked, stepping marginally closer and looking Nuada up and down who tensed at the approach and raised himself to his full height.

"No." He answered with only half of the truth. He was a Prince, of course, but there had been nothing noble or honorable about his and his sister's birth, he thought sadly.

"Where do you hail from?"

"Bethmoora. Where do you hail from Legolas?"

"I hail from Mirkwood," came the reply.

"And your station?"

"He is our Prince!" one of the surrounding elves declared proudly, grinning openly at Nuada.

Legolas looked away sharply, at the elf who had spoken. "Hold your tongue, Dolbel!" His face was hard, eyes narrowed, and his tone commanding.

Dolbel, it was plain to Nuada, was the youngest of the group.

"I apologize, Prince Legolas!" the elfling cried immediately, and it finally struck Nuada.

"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood," he said, disbelieving, but the Prince did not seem to think anything of it. Nuada presumed he was used to similar reactions, which would have made him sneer had he not been preoccupied with this revelation.

"We are traveling to Lothlorien. What is your purpose here, Silverblade?" Quite suddenly Legolas seemed to grow into his authority, which Nuada admitted to himself, he had not noticed was there moments ago.

"Lothlorien?" Nuada repeated, showing nothing, this time, of his still growing surprise. "I am merely looking for my sister."

"Sister?"

"Nuala... Balorlion." He added the last part deciding to seek some answers of his own, and, as he had suspected, his father's name was dismissed... These elves did not know of King Balor of the underworld or the last elven city of Bethmoora... Though, he supposed that was _his_ title now, and the city was his as well. Nuada had to press his lips together to keep from making a pained expression.

"I have discovered no others in the nearby woods," Legolas said, still thinking of Nuala. "How have you come to be apart?"

"It's of no matter. I sense her. She is that way," Nuada gestured behind him.

"That is also the way of Lothlorien."

"Will she be safe there?" Nuada asked, unable to stop himself.

"Yes, of course," Legolas said, tilting his head, questioningly.

Though the names Legolas had spoken of were familiar enough, Nuada had never been interested in history. Instead, he had been swept up in his meanderings with goblins and trolls and dwarvish crafts, dismissing silly stories of the past which had nothing to do with him.

"May I... travel with you?" Nuada asked, hesitatingly; he would need access to Lothlorien, and he may be in need of allies- for a time.

Legolas looked at him for a moment, his face again hardening. "You may if you answer my questions."

Nuada clenched his jaw. Then he nodded once. "So be it."

Prince Legolas actually deigned to smile at him, though it was subdued. A falsity rang in it, but so had there been in all of the elf's words and actions since he had failed to cut Nuada's throat. It raised his hairs- especially because of Legolas's appearance; the Prince far too beautiful, in his opinion, as if done by unnatural causes. He had made up his mind about what was prudent, and he would go along with the company- of course, remaining constantly alert, though he didn't see they had any real reason to distrust him and betray his confidences.

"We have no spare horses," Legolas explained, turning to continue on, "but we shall walk with you; Lothlorien is less than a day away."

Nuada stepped after the Prince, examining him and the others out of the corner of his eye. They were more serene and ethereal than the elves of his time- though, he and Nuala could not be compared to even _those_ in beauty and grace. Nuada's darkness had touched them both and scarred them. They were dark, outcast creatures, and only their titles as Prince and Princess had ever spared them isolation. Nuala's kind heart and Nuada's honor had earned them respect later in life, too. It was as it should be. Nuada knew how to lead, he was sure of his convictions, and comfortable with difficulty because he had had to learn to be. He _would _raise the Golden Army once he found Nuala and they returned home.

"Please," Legolas interrupted his thoughts, "will you tell me about these markings on your face?" He gestured at Nuada who blinked.

"They are-" Nuada ran his fingers along the line which ran horizontally across his cheekbones, crossed in a number of places by smaller vertical lines. "They are battle scars," he settled.

"You are a warrior?"

"No more so than yourself."

"And the darkness...?" Legolas asked, his voice dropping as he let his eyes roam over Nuada's eyes and lips.

"Is exactly that. I am not unsullied." Again Nuada missed the significance of his words. Prince Legolas was silent for a long moment, though, and he wondered if he should have held his tongue.

"...Bethmoora... I have not heard of it. It is impossible that I not know of an Elven keep." Legolas was looking forward now, as he dipped and twisted in and out of the trees, his blonde hair swaying almost melodically.

"...Understandable. It is a small coven. No more than three hundred elves." Of course Prince Legolas would not have heard of Bethmoora- it didn't exist yet; however, he decided to avoid lies as much as possible. If these elves were anything like the elves in the legends he had grown up hearing of, one or the other would detect his lies, perhaps even read his mind for the truth. There was, indeed, no more than three hundred elves in Bethmoora, and certainly no more than four hundred the world over which was a generous estimate. Elves were not nomadic by nature, and few, he guessed, would try for life outside of the last elven city, as he had.

"Nay, it is not possible. I have studied maps of Middle Earth extensively," Legolas insisted. "In addition, you have been traveling in the direction of Lothlorien, trundling through the underbrush even when the road is mere paces away." As if to prove his point they emerged onto a veritable tunnel through the forest, a beaten dirt path underfoot, proof that this was a frequented route, the aforementioned road. Legolas continued on walking, the guard falling somewhat behind as they collected the horses.

_They trust his abilities enough to let him alone with me, _Nuada noted.

Out loud he murmured, "Bethmoora is not within the realm of your maps," absently dismissing the Prince, which quickly proved to have been a mistake on his part.

_Temperamental, aren't we? _Nuada thought acidly as Legolas suddenly pivoted about to face him, gaze unfeeling, like a cold, hard statue. Stillness looked strange on him now- thought Nuada- now that he had seen Legolas slipping in and out of the trees with such easy grace.

"_You lie to me_."

Nuada blinked, his own face slipping into the same passive mask. He said nothing.

"You lie to me," Legolas repeated. "You are Sauron's."

_Sauron_, Nuada felt inclined to narrow his eyes, but he refrained. _The third age._ _Legolas... of the Fellowship of the Ring. These names I remember, but I do not know the details of this story._

He was drawn slowly from his thoughts as the guard surrounded them, three in the trees and three on the ground: two arrows were nocked in their bows, both trained on him once again; four swords were drawn; and Legolas, with hands like lightening, unsheathed both his long knives.

Nuada knocked aside the knives that came thrusting toward his face, his own blade unsheathed with practiced speed.

There was no time for him to experience surprise, or anger, or for him to attempt to explain himself- not that he would have if given the chance; his instincts took over as Legolas drew back and twisted his weapon, coming in for a fast strike from the side this time. Nuada dropped below the whistling blades and parried around the elf, turning in a motion that caused the bottom of his black skirt to fan out.

His knife was lengthening into a spear then, as Legolas whirled and brought his blades slicing through the air with him.

Nuada dropped below again, this time sweeping a leg out to knock the feet out from under Legolas, but the elf jumped back, and then swung straight down at him.

Nuada had no choice but to roll back, even though it opened up the opportunity for the archers to fire. He sprang to his feet and ran toward a tree trunk off to the side before launching himself up onto the lowest branch which one of the guards stood on, sword at the ready; it just happened to be Dolbel. Nuada smirked before flashing forward, knocking the sword away, and taking the elf by the hair, yanking his head back so that he could place the point of his now-spear at the crook of the young one's pale neck.

"Release him!" Legolas shouted.

"Do you make a habit of cutting down unsuspecting elves, my Prince?" Nuada asked venomously. If his life had been in anymore danger he would have been outright raging, but his skill was such that he did not have to fear for his or Nuala's life- there was that, at least.

"In these times trust is often a foolish and fatal mistake. I cannot allow you to enter Lothlorien, Dark Elf."

"Dark Elf?" Nuada laughed bitterly. "You are naive." Nuada's hand opened and closed around not just Dolbel's flowing hair, but around the back of his neck then, too. The young man, shaking in his grasp, was visibly caught by surprise when Nuada withdrew his blade and threw him forward. He was pitched from the branch and would have hit the forest floor hard enough to break bone had Legolas not jumped in to soften the impact his fall, taken to the ground in the process.

Before any of the others could make a move- apart from two arrows being loosed in his general direction- Nuada had flipped off the back of the branch and landed on the ground in a crouch, straightening up mid-turn and launching into the forest and away from the party in the next instant. He would find Lothlorien and his sister on his own.

XXX

Legolas grunted as he shoved Dolbel off him and got to his feet, whistling so his horse, Alagoss, came hurtling through the woods toward him. He swung up onto the steed's back and fastened his quiver (which had been hanging from the saddle) on his person, turning to his guard as he did so.

"I will pursue him alone; you will only hinder me. Move on to Lothlorien. Tell Haldir what has happened here."

Legolas did not wait to hear arguments, not that his tone had brooked room for any; he turned his steed and shot into the woods.

He couldn't deny the urgency pressing him to ensure that Nuada didn't reach Lothlorien for the safety of the keep, but neither could he deny that beneath this protective drive was a pulse-pounding thrill, an excited fluttering in his chest and abdomen. He had not been so matched by just one elf in many hundreds of years (apart from Haldir and a handful of others who would actually take up a fight with him). The experience Nuada Silverblade had displayed- the swiftness with which he had moved and the way he had anticipated Legolas's own movements- left him believing that, no doubt, this Dark Elf was a remarkably skilled warrior and a decidedly worthy opponent- a _real _opponent and not just some training opponent. But there was more... Legolas had seen the the thin veil severing Nuada's true self from the world. He had seen fire and anger in the Dark Elf's eyes, but he had not seen it unleashed- not _yet_. He wanted to experience the truth behind that inadequate mask. He did not know why, but he was compelled to do so. There was something there, in those eyes, which he recognized in himself, but Legolas had not realized it yet; he was behind a veil of his own, the Prince of Mirkwood, but that veil was now swaying in a gently stirring wind.

The anticipation coursing through him seemed more refreshing, and it only livened the sensation of rushing through the woods, leaves and branches sluicing his sides with whipping noises as they snapped away. His hair lashed out behind him as the steady-beating gallop of his horse rocked through him. The world seemed closer and clearer.

XXX

Disclaimer:

I don't own _Lord of the Rings_ or _Hellboy_.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Nuada had run parallel to Lothlorien to make Prince Legolas and his party believe he had given up on reaching the elven keep, that he was intending escape only, but to his disappointment it did not appear to have worked- or at least not totally. One was following him, and judging by the skill of this tracker (Nuada knowing himself to be well versed in evasion tactics), it was none other than the Prince himself.

He had been- and still was- surprised by the elf. Nuada's expectation of his predecessors was less than favorable, to say the least. He certainly did not expect them- any of them- to be true soldiers, such as Legolas. His initial thought had been that he was simply a notable member of the guard (perhaps he was even in a position of authority)- instead, he turned out to hold the very same title as Nuada! Still, even if this royal had both title and battle skill in common with him, that did not mean Nuada had dismissed any of his resentment.

Elves of the early ages were weak and gentle and _foolish_. He despised them for what they had let their race- and all other underworld life- come to, giving up and sailing for Varda with their tails between their legs while humans destroyed the Earth. And look what had become of it. All the magic had been lost in a vicious systematic, _mechanical_ destruction. Nuada had sworn to himself he would never be like those elves- elves like Legolas. He had spent years training. And he was unmatched.

Unfortunately, he was in a foreign landscape, one man against, potentially, an _entire keep_ (or the guard anyway), and he remained somewhat disoriented. Retreat was now his only plan of action, and it did not seem it was going to spare him, either. At least he would only have one opponent... _Though if I kill that one opponent, I will be condemning myself, _he acknowledged.

Nuada had slowly dropped his speed (first he had been sprinting, trying to use the advantage of his flexibility to outpace the horse), and now he simply came to a standstill, turning his head back and forth as he scanned the area. He would meet the elf, here then. At least the fight would be on his terms.

XXX

The trees whispered to Legolas a he passed; the Dark Elf was moving in an arc and he was moving fast. Alagoss, on the other hand, was not slow, nor did he hesitate, but certainly weaving through the trees, over and under branches, hindered him... If Nuada continued this way, then it would come down to endurance, and, Legolas knew, there was no chance of him outperforming any steed, let alone _his _steed.

However, just as Legolas was beginning to wonder how much longer Nuada could continue, the forest settled. _He has stopped, _Legolas understood. Alagoss neighed, tossing his head back, and Legolas gave a light pull to the reigns in his hands, signaling his steed to slow.

His eyes narrowed as he dropped down from the saddle and approached Nuada's general vicinity, hidden behind one of the tree trunks. He unsheathed his blades, watching and listening for the moment Nuada revealed himself.

XXX

Nuada waited until Legolas drew close, then lifted his knife, and lunged. The Prince had caught his blade with his own, and as if they had plans to execute the same maneuver, all three blades were thrust to the side, so that there was no longer anything between them. Nuada, was able to free one hand, however (possessing only one knife), and his elbow was promptly thrown into Legolas's stomach. The Prince stumbled back, and Nuada pulled his blade free of the other two, but before he could get it up to the other's neck, clad in the green collar of his tunic, Legolas thrust one blade at him, and he was forced to block. Nuada quickly grew frustrated at exchanging lightening fast strikes; no doubt, it was a testament to either of their skill, and someone from the outside might be baffled by the seamless movement as they attacked and parried, but he was running short on patience. Nuada growled, and the next time he caught a strike of Legolas's, he put all of his strength into throwing the elf back. In the moment that Legolas's arms were above his head, Nuada dropped into a spinning kick, and planted his foot in the Prince's stomach. This time he was rewarded with an, "Oomph."

After this, Legolas's ferocity only increased; his swift and vicious movement did not relent and soon, Legolas was forced to concentrate on warding him off. It went on for minutes- minutes that Legolas experienced as far longer. He panted heavily, as did Nuada when they finally separated, looking into each other's eyes with unreadable emotion.

"Well, you certainly are a _worthy _Prince," Nuada said, his voice both thick with sardonicism and thinned by heavy breathing. Legolas's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"If you wish to speak, speak clearly," he said, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

It was Nuada's turn to glare, but he stopped himself; instead, he let his mouth curl into a mockery of a smile.

"You fight well for a royal who sits on his throne and lords over his court."

Legolas straightened from his battle-stance some, frowning.

"You begrudge me my title?" What could Silverblade possibly have against the crown, he wondered; then it occurred to him that Nuada was not, per se, making a slight against the crown itself or those who bore it, but rather the _ability_ of those who did. "I have always trained hard, Dark Elf, and even had I not, there is more to sitting on the throne than lording over subjects- more than fighting, too. It requires diplomacy, morality, patience- _wisdom_- but you know no nothing of ruling-"

"You are exercising your arrogance even now!" Nuada raised his voice to cut above the Prince's as he lifted his blade and lunged toward him again. Legolas met him, and then again and again. Nuada's skill was slowly overtaking Legolas as he pushed him back, the two weaving in and around trees, and then suddenly out into open field; Nuada let up in his unremitting attack for a moment to briefly take in their surroundings at the edge of the wood. The trees continued a half-league across (the clearing was longer than it was wide and continued beyond sight to the left and right- the result of a river that had since ceased to flow); in between were large but smooth boulders and planar rocks jutting out of the ground between the grass and flowers.

Nuada directed his attention back to the elven Prince who was now steadily retreating into the field; the way which he moved suggested he knew the area well enough. There was a confidence in his movement, but unbeknownst to Nuada, it was failing him quickly.

Legolas knew his true strength was with the bow, but that would not help him here, in close range. Nuada was even more formidable than he had thought. It would take everything he had to slay this elf. He was being beat down with strength driven blows that rattled the blades in his hands as he maneuvered ever away- and he was thankful that they were matched in speed if nothing else.

Before he knew it they had made their way to the middle of the sun-drenched field, and then the ground began to tremble ever so slightly, causing Legolas's step to falter. His sword arm dropped only inches; suddenly, Nuada, with a raging battle cry, spun toward him and swung his weapon like a sports racket. Legolas raised his own knives in half-defense, not able to prepare himself in time to brace properly for the shattering vibration that ran up his arm when metal and metal clanged; he grew still following this, ignoring the unrelenting crawling sensation traveling up his spine and around his scalp even after the vibrations had stopped. Nuada, now that he had landed his blow, also grew still. They looked at each other with mistrusting eyes as the ground continued to rumble and a horn in the distance blared.

_He is distressed about something_, Nuada realized as he looked deeply into cerulean eyes. _What is coming?_

"Uruk," Legolas intoned then, answering Nuada's unspoken question. "I offer you a temporary truce. A danger approaches that neither one of us alone- or together- may survive. We cannot fight them. There are too many." Legolas looked at the ground between their feet as if to point to it as evidence. Nuada knew perfectly well that it was a large party traveling toward them.

He clenched his jaw, but he could see the sincere emotion pressing behind the other elf's eyes, and therefore he had to believe the danger was real. "We will finish this after?"

"Yes," Legolas nodded.

"How can I trust you not to slay me?" Nuada asked, though it was of no real concern to him. He would not let his guard down.

"I want to fight you. It has been many years since I have faced an opponent like yourself. And how might I trust you not to slay me?" Legolas was thinking the same as Nuada: there was very little if any point at all in asking the question.

"It would be dishonourable," Nuada said simply. "Those who lead have a duty to honor- more so than others."

Legolas's face darkened, again uncertain what was being said, but these were words his tutors had told him many a time- and even his father on more than one occasion. Was Nuada uttering them as a reminder to Legolasthat he had a duty to honor? Admittedly, he was insulted by the idea that the Dark Elf believed he would betray him after he had given his word- after he had _proposed_ this in the first place.

"..._Agreed_," Legolas snapped; then he looked around in mounting anxiety which did to show through his exterior, of course. There were far more pressing matters at hand than the validity of his honour.

"Back to the cover of the trees?" Nuada proposed calmly.

"There is no time!" Before Legolas knew what he was doing he had reached out and grabbed Nuada by the loose half sleeve of his robe and was pulling him toward one of the boulders, pushing him down and against it, before doing the same himself.

"I do not understand why a band of Uruk would venture this far into the woodland realm!" Before Nuada had a chance to respond the horn blared again, this time much louder in it's growing proximity.

"Be prepared to move," Legolas quietly urged to Nuada, looking past him in the direction of the approaching party. The galloping of the horses slowed as they drew nearer to the field until finally what either surmised was somewhere around twenty horsemen emerged into the field. Neither moved at first, not until the party started across the grass terrain- in their direction. They would pass the left side, Nuada's side, if Legolas was not mistaken. He tugged on the dark sleeve caught between his nimble fingers and then, with slow and careful movement began to inch his way around the right side of the boulder; this way, hopefully the party would pass on the left, and he and Nuada could remain hidden behind the boulder.

The Dark Elf was silent, and so was he; in fact, he had to pay mind not to make a single noise for it was completely quiet in the clearing. Only the sound of approaching hooves could be heard, and Legolas finally gave pause. _Uruk are not quiet and... Truly, what would a band be doing so near Lothlorien? _

Legolas stopped moving, glancing to Nuada first and signalling him to remain still before sheathing his blade and loosing his bow from its tie; then he turned and inched himself forward ever so slowly that he might glimpse a sight of the intruders- and glimpse he did.

_Haldir!_ Legolas cried mentally, pulling back against the rock on instinct alone. Nuada was watching him intently, a single brow raised. Legolas almost thought he must have seen the elven brigade through some reflection in his eyes.

And he did not know why he was _still_ pressed against the rock, though.

He had given his word he would fight Nuada, that they would have a truce, but how could he justify that now? Just as much as he was honour bound to Nuada, he had a duty to his people- all elves- to ensure their safety. Legolas glanced warily at Nuada. Why had he gone and proposed the truce in the first place? Wasn't he of the mind that Nuada was one of Sauron's Uruk breeds? Yet he had not hesitated in aligning them- he and the Dark Elf- against the monstrosities; it hadn't even run the course of his mind that he was not requesting the cooperation of his enemies' enemy, but plainly of his enemy. Had he lost possession of his mind?

Nuada was now glaring at him with what Legolas thought to be accusing eyes- as if he knew very well what was going through the Prince's mind. In all likelihood, he knew exactly who was on the other side of the boulder, Legolas decided, his confusion intensifying. It would indeed be dishonourable of him to allow the guard to kill Silverblade... But perhaps that did not have to happen. Perhaps they could simple apprehend him... then they might still have their fight.

_No, it is ludicrous!_ he realized. What was he thinking, weighing the interests of a dangerous stranger against those of the people of Lothlorien in the name of his own honour when _he_ had been the one to jeopardize it? Shame cut through him at the thought of his blunder. How could he lead with these weak convictions?

The Prince shifted his bow in his grip- if for strength at first, that was soon about to change. With one final look into Nuada's now disturbingly dead eyes, he pushed away from the rock.

His heart thudded suddenly in his chest as Nuada lifted his knife and steadily drew his arm back as if to throw it, but then he stopped, and simply continued to gaze with unfeeling eyes, eyes which somehow managed to contain nothingness.

"Haldir!" Legolas commanded, finally pulling up his bow and nocking an arrow to take aim at the lone elf backed against the rock-face.

He wondered why had Nuada not slain him.

"Legolas! Are you harmed?"

"Nay, Haldir."

"Secure the other," the March-Warden commanded of his men. Even as Haldir spoke the rest of the Lothlorien force had surrounded the pair of arrivals, swords drawn, and a few bow and arrows readied. Haldir stood next to Legolas and surveyed the strange elf. "The forest led us toward the sound of battle, but why did you hide form us, Legolas?"

"...You sounded the horn of an Uruk," Legolas said, confused and irritated.

"There have been a number of attacks here of late. I carry the horn with me and sound it when approaching unknown parties. If they are Uruk they will not have thought to prepare themselves or to have attempted hiding or running believing we are their kin and they are safe." Haldir reached out a hand to place on the Prince's shoulder, but turned his head to look at one or the other elf behind him. "Do it," he said, a simple command.

Legolas watched in horror as a single arrow, faster than he could protest, was nocked and subsequently loosed from the bow; it imbedded itself in Nuada's shoulder, and his blackened lips parted in surprise as he looked down at himself.

Legolas tried to jerk out of Haldir's grip without any thought of doing so, but the hand on his shoulder tightened, and he looked back to find Haldir's confused and concerned eyes fastened on him. "He is only being detained. The arrow was dosed with sedative, Legolas."

The Prince turned back to the rock-face, watching as Nuada reached in slow surprise for the arrow now buried in him. He pulled it out with weighted movements before looking up into the surrounding faces, searching for one in particular, though it was obvious his vision was failing him. By the time he had found Legolas, Nuada was clearly beyond making any expression, let alone speech. He gazed, unseeing, ahead. Next, his balance unsteadied until he was forced to lay back against the cold surface of the rock, though it curved uncomfortably away from him near the top. The Dark Elf was unconscious before his knees and then the rest of his body slipped down to land in the grass and flowers at his feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

When Nuada awoke it was to blinding white light, which turned out to be sourced from an open window above his head in private chambers he had certainly never stayed in before; the air was thick with the scent of pine and melodic sounds, and it seemed to buzz with life. He tried to roll onto his side, only to find his arms had been stretched to either side of the bed where they had been bound allowing just enough room for him to sit up which he did, tugging at his restraints. The bedding was white cotton, as were the clothes he was dressed in, and the curtains billowing gently in the breeze. He could not well twist to look out of the window behind the bed, but there was one to his left; unfortunately, the view was blocked by leaves, and Nuada was given no more clues as to his whereabouts. If he had to guess, he'd say he was in Lothlorien.

A growl was building in his throat when the door suddenly came open. It startled him enough for the growl to die for a moment, but then it was renewed with just as much ferocity- if not more- than before he had been interrupted; a beautiful but old female-elf entered and the white light permeating the room seemed to bounce off her as if she herself were a source of it, her golden tresses, gossamer dress, and flawless skin glowing.

A small part of Nuada was awed; the rest was disgusted. In fact, the vast majority of him was disgusted.

The ancient elf smiled softly at him.

_Repulsive_, he thought. Letting his face contort before remembering himself and giving another yank to the bonds on his wrists.

"Release me now," he demanded.

"I cannot until the healers see fit and you have regained yourself, my child."

"I am no child of yours," he bit.

"You are. You are my descendent."

"When you release me I will slit your throat."

"Brother!"

Nuada was stunned silent when Nuala stepped into the room, flushed from whatever quick walking had brought her here following her summons. She was frowning, which made Nuada frown in turn. For Nuala any expression at all was significant- she was always careful with herself.

"Nuala."

"Brother, you cannot speak so to the Lady Galadriel."

Nuada did not even glance in the other direction, dismissing the notion he should bow to anyone in a heartbeat. That this was the Lady Galadriel at his bedside frightened him if anything; she was powerful. That did not mean she deserved his respect. No, she was no different than that lowly Prince who had instrumented his predicament.

"Sister, I do not like bonds," Nuada said quietly, earnestly. He knew Nuala would have empathy for this; she had experienced his emotions when he had been captured and chained as a child. She stood, unmoving, but Nuada could feel the gathering pain which lingered in her. He almost thought he saw her reach to stroke the scars on her face which mirrored his own, but she resisted. If Lady Galadriel had not been there she surely would have.

"If you are released, brother, you must not harm anyone here."

Nuada wanted to sing her praises, as proud of her as he ever had been that she had not forgotten her station and let herself fear ruling over Lady Galadriel, especially where he was concerned.

"I have no interest in these people, Nuala. I only wish to return to Bethmoora."

Nuala had already been moving gracefully to his bedside, appraising and then tugging gently at the straps on his wrists. She now looked at him, her eyes sad, but face otherwise blank.

"You will find no such way until it is truly time."

"What do you mean?"

"The magic that brought you here was more powerful than anything I possess. There is no way for you to go back," Lady Galadriel said.

"What magic brought us here? I will find it and use it to return us."

"I do not know," Galadriel said simply, her voice calm and melodious. It grated on Nuada's nerves.

"You do not know?" he asked angrily.

Galadriel only smiled.

"Brother we will discuss it more at length, I promise... For now I require that you nourish your body. When did you last eat?"

"In Bethmoora."

"Then here," Nuala lifted a tray from an elf-maiden's hand who came to stand in the doorway at the mention of nourishment. Nuada massaged his wrists and sat up more comfortably, allowing the tray with the bowl of soup and apple to be placed in his lap by Nuala; after eyeing it skeptically, he ate with great speed. It wasn't until he looked up from his meal that he noticed the Lady Galadriel had disappeared.

"Where are my clothes?" Nuada asked, dragging his feet over the edge of the bed and placing the tray on the small dresser beside it.

"There," Nuala pointed to a small folded stack of clothing on a chair across the room. Nuada stood, and pulled the white cotton shirt above his head. Nuala turned gracefully away while he stepped into his clothing- first his pants, then his boots; then he pulled on his collared shirt, leaving off the robes with the loose half-sleeves, the waist tie, the arm guards, and the plate armor for his chest; still, he fastened his blade to his hip. Nuala was dressed in the same dark green gown she had been wearing when he last seen her in Bethmoora, and he noticed that her own weapon was missing.

"Where is your knife, Nuala?" he asked her.

"In my chambers, brother. The elves here do not carry weaponry as we do."

"You are putting yourself in danger," he argued, stepping around the bed to face her.

"I am not. I will show you this place, brother, and you will see. It is different here- peaceful."

"It is conjecturally peaceful, sister. This is the time of Sauron."

"Nay, this is the time of hobbits," Nuala said, smiling slightly.

"What have they done to you?" Nuada asked, almost confounded by the change in Nuala. He was surprised when her quiet laughter chimed through the room, and though he had been perfectly serious, Nuada felt his lips curve into a small smile, too. It was nice to see her lightened once more.

"Come, I will show you."

XXX

Legolas had questioned Haldir extensively once the March-warden had delivered Nuada's unconscious form to the chamber's his sister- Nuala- had been given. He hadn't approached Lady Galadriel or Nuala on the topic because he knew either one of them would read more into his interest than Haldir, what with being of the female disposition, and he was more than a little shamed by his actions and had no desire to go about broadcasting them. Haldir did not care half so much what motivations Legolas had or about the new arrivals in general; he answered the Mirkwood Prince's questions as best he could, hoping Legolas would then leave him in peace- unless he wanted to train or discuss battle strategies- but, really, what did he care for gossip about _Dark Elves_?

"Did Lady Galadriel tell you where they hail from?"

"I do not know if I am supposed to tell you that, Legolas."

"Silverblade told me he hails from Bethmoora, but that is not a province of this realm."

"Nay, it is not. They are from some other realm- this is what I was told."

"So they are not with Sauron?"

"Of course not! Do you think Lord Celeborn would allow them in Lothlorien if it were so?"

"I suppose not." Legolas paused for a moment, and Haldir almost allowed himself hope that the interrogation had ended, but then Legolas took another breath.

"How ever did they come to be here?"

"I do not know. I suppose Lady Galadriel does not either, or else they would be sent back, not given room and clothes."

"What will they do here?"

"I do not know, Legolas," Haldir sighed, reaching around to unfasten his bow as they arrived on the range. "Live, just as the rest of us do."

"Silverblade... Nuada... He is not amendable to this place, though I do not know how that can be."

"Perhaps the place he hails from is equally or even more beautiful than this." Haldir was placing his arrows in the quiver fixed to the ground before him for easy access; Legolas had leaned against a tree off to the side and was picking at the fletching of one of his.

"Why are you so preoccupied with this, Legolas?" Haldir asked as he nocked his first arrow.

Legolas ignored him in favour of asking more questions. "Have you met his sister?"

"Princess Nuala? Yes-" Haldir had been about to loose his arrow when Legolas startled him.

"_Princess_ Nuala?" Legolas exclaimed, his eyes shooting up from the feathers he had been examining.

"Yes. You did not know?" Haldir glanced over his extended arm to look at Legolas whose hands had then fallen to his sides.

"That Silverblade is a Prince? No, I did not know!" He pushed off the tree in his eager declaration.

"Well, you do now." Haldir returned to taking aim.

"I... I was arrogant and dishonourable... and mistaken." The arrow flew forward and hit centre target. "I must find him and offer my apologies!"

Legolas shoved the arrow which had been in his hand back into his quiver and strode quickly out of sight. Haldir stared after him for a moment, shook his head, then nocked another arrow, uncertain if he was sad or glad to see his friend go.


End file.
